“He's my third husband. Since you insist I speak frankly, I’ll admit not all my decisions have been sensible ones. Actually, I don't know why I married the first two either. I take that back—I do know why. They were both Wall Street types and at that time in my life I thought they were exciting. Mother was furious that I was marrying down. They were barely on the edge of our Manhattan social circle. In the end, she was correct as they eventually both went bankrupt. Be that as it may, you were asking about Lester. He was polite and cultured, and I was making sizable real estate deals at the time. They just kept pouring in. I needed an upscale appearance at parties I attended and hosted. Lester was useful, and I could control him. Although, he hasn’t lived up to my expectations as a Trophy Husband, he is affable, good looking and knows how to dress. I guess I thought standing alongside him would make me look good. Of course, he can also be a boring twit. He’s more bearable when he’s high. Fortunately, I don’t have to take him for more than a few minutes at a time. As it turns out, he doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose.”
“Mrs. Bardner, it will get more uncomfortable for your husband. He’ll be transported out to the county prison at any time. A tougher situation for him out there, and you’ll have to drive several miles to see him. Frankly, he’s not been forthcoming with me. I get the feeling he’s trying to protect someone by not cooperating with me. Do you have any idea who that person might be?”
The woman frowned. “I simply don’t know enough about the situation. And please, call me Julia.”
“Could that person be you?”
She raised an indignant eyebrow. “My husband shot no one. So how could I have anything to do with it?”
“He hasn’t told me the truth, and I’m not so certain about you. All you seem to know is when he left the house and when he returned. I feel you’re lying even about that. That leaves a large gap of time in which he could have murdered a man.”
“That’s not true, and you’re very careless with your accusations. I must say, I don’t like your manner.”
“Yeah, I've had complaints about it, but it keeps getting worse.” Reality was not this couple’s strong point. “The truth shouldn’t be arbitrary, Julia.”
“Of course not, but I really can’t tell you anything.”
“Apparently, you can’t even tell me where you were last night.”
“As I told you. I was home with Lester all evening. We went to bed around eleven, the police showed up around three this morning.”
“No, that isn’t as you told me. Yesterday, you said you were working late at your office until eight, and he snuck in around midnight. An hour ago, your husband told me he was at Frankie’s Sports Bar until maybe ten. Now you say you were home together all evening. Why don’t you guys decide on which fabrication you want me to take into court and get back to me?”
“No, no, Monday night, he was at the sports bar late and I confronted him when he came home. Last night we were both home all evening and never went out. Lester must be confused. Surely, you’re not accusing me of lying.”
“Surely, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now you say the sports bar Monday and home together last night. That’s the opposite of what you two first told me. You told me he came home late both nights. I have it in my notes. You people don’t get it. Your husband’s in serious trouble. Verdicts often turn on seemingly insignificant misstatements. He could lose his life over this. Or, if he’s lucky, merely spend the rest of it in prison.”
“I just came from seeing him. I’m sure if you check back, he’ll confirm we were home together.”
“Besides all that, we have a more serious problem. We now know that the police have a video purporting to show him literally shooting Coleman. I have to be able to refute that, and I can’t do it with you two not helping.”
“They have a video of him shooting the man?” The woman bunched down in the soft leather chair and held her arms tightly across her chest.
“Yes, at the exact time you say he was with you at home. Amazing, isn’t it?” Sandy briefly explained about the two videos. She finished by saying, “The camera doesn’t in fact show him continually running to his car, because there was no camera at 35th, so I’ll try to discredit the video at the trial even though it’s a weak argument.”
“All I know is that Lester wouldn’t have killed that guy. He wouldn’t kill anyone.” She suddenly jumped from the chair. “I can’t stand all this!”
Sandy was surprised at her outburst and pushed back from the desk. She watched the woman madly running her fingers through her hair as she hurried into the hallway and out of the office.
Chapter Six
Later that same afternoon, Sandy received a message from an agitated Lester Bardner at the city jail. He had to see her at once. She assumed he was panicking either because Julia had told him about the traffic camera video, or because they had him in shackles ready for transport out to the county prison. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to go over and check if his attitude about cooperating had changed.
The Park Beach Police building, with all the additions made as the town had grown, was four floors of attractive white stucco block construction sitting next to the smaller City Hall building, and across Banyan Boulevard from the county courthouse. All were within easy walking distance of the law office, except not so easy if the weather should change from merely hot into especially hot, which was Florida’s prerogative. In that case, one could avoid melting faster than a chocolate Easter egg by driving instead of walking the three short blocks, even though you’d arrive long before the AC had begun to cool the car. That day she drove, Florida was steaming.
Once again, she was in the city detention area of the police building, seated on the empty bunk opposite Lester. She asked if he had been eating.
“Don’t ask about the food here. Do you know there are no springs on these beds? Just a thin mattress pad on a concrete slab.”
“Knew that, forgot that and don't care to hear about it again.” At least he sounded less depressed. “Now what's bothering you?”
“My wife was just here. She told me all about that police video and the traffic cameras.”
“Yeah, it’s not good they have that video. Can you explain any of it? What do you have to say?”
“I haven’t seen the video. But I can tell you I didn’t shoot that guy.”
“Well, it certainly looks like you, shooting into the car in front of Mahoney’s and running back to your car.”
“I believe I can help you with that.”
“Oh good, does that mean I finally have your serious attention, and you’re going to start telling me the truth?”
His eyes moved upwards as though remembering. “There’s a little coffee bar on the corner of 35th Street and Palm Avenue—that is, between 34th and 36th.”
She sat waiting.
“I was in that coffee bar last night at 8 p.m.”
She bolted upright, her briefcase sliding to the floor. “You were in that coffee place last night? You told me you were in the sports bar until about ten.”
“I think that was the night before last.” Looking upwards again, he said, “In fact, I was in there for at least a half hour. Still drinking my coffee when I heard the police sirens down the block. Then I came out and ran down to my car.”
She stepped over, gripped the bars on the door with both hands for a moment, considering the implausible statement she had just heard, then turned and faced him. “When did you decide on this third alibi version? No, don’t tell me.” She picked up her briefcase from the floor and sat back down. “So your actions exactly match the sequence we need to discredit the video evidence.”
“I believe so.”
Who had the smarts to think that one up? Certainly not him. She wondered if Julia was even that clever. After being told about the gap in the video sequence, they had come up with a creative explanation to fit the video—and it was good. Lester was one block from the crime scene sipping coffee at the time of the shootin
g. He then left The Coffee Mug, and the 36th Street cam filmed him innocently walking to his parked car. Perfect. A marvelous coincidence, a brilliant, amazingly perfect, lifesaving coincidence.
She continued with the questions, but her heart wasn’t in it. “When was the last time you were at Frankie’s Sports Bar?”
He took a note from his shirt pocket and peeked at it.
“What’s that?” she said.
“Nothing.” He put it back in his pocket hurriedly.
“Let me see it.” She reached over, snatched it from his pocket and read, “Monday... sports bar... late. I guess that means you stayed late. Tuesday... Coffee Mug 1/2 hour.”
She sat back down on the bunk, leaned back against the concrete wall, covered her face with her hands and sighed in frustration, “What do I do with you two characters?”
“You’re upset aren’t you?”
“Oh, I shot beyond upset on our last visit, I’ve now moved on to hopelessly infuriated.”
“Julia said to tell you that we both have been lying only because we were so scared. We had decided earlier that my alibi would be better if we were together at home. The real truth is I was at The Coffee Mug.”
“The two of you got together and decided to lie to me about being home that night, is that correct?”
He nodded.
“But now you’re telling me the truth.”
He nodded.
She gathered her papers and briefcase and stepped toward the cell door. Over her shoulder, she said, “Have you in fact ever been to The Coffee Mug?”
“I believe so.”
Midmorning the next day, Martin was at The Coffee Mug on the corner of 35th Street and Palm Avenue, the corner not covered by the municipal traffic cam system. He had decided to go to the coffee bar and check if they had a security system, which might show customers in there around 8 p.m. the night of the murder. He had absolutely no expectation that Lester would be shown to have been there, but he could hope.
He found the place surprisingly cozy with cushioned benches along the walls below the two corner windows, square tables and the counter bar. All nicely matching the teal and coffee-brown colored walls. The coziness, he decided, was due to the darkened glass of the windows and muted glow of small table lamps. Even at high noon, the place had the snug feeling of some late evening refuge from the merciless bright hotness of the Florida day outside.
After he explained the seriousness of his purpose, the assistant manager admitted that the obvious official-looking camera mounted in plain sight high on the wall above the cashier was a fake; there was no installed video system. However, at his request, she did point out Holly Davies, the server who was on duty Tuesday night.
He looked over at the young woman with spiked black hair, jet-black eye makeup and dark red lipstick. Her miniskirt was no longer that the short server’s apron she wore. “Oh, does she work here?” he said, thinking she’d be better suited in some late-night hangout.
Holly Davies was attractive, if you could get beyond her rather devilish first impression. She appeared young to start with, and her exaggerated appearance made her seem even more immature, at least to him. Yet, she was pleasantly upbeat and reasonably well-spoken.
After staring at the photo of Lester Bardner, unfortunately Holly didn’t recall him ever being in there. Yes, she remembered the sirens and flashing lights down the block that night.
Most of all, she seemed fascinated by Martin being an investigator. “You wear that dark suit and tie all the time? What’s your name?”
“Martin Bronner. Do you remember anything unusual about that night, Holly? Anyone rushing in or out? Any commotion out on the street?”
She looked thoughtful. “I know which night you’re talking about—all the sirens and police cars. What side are you on, Marty? I mean the killer’s or the guy he shot?”
“I’m on the side of truth, justice and the American way,” he said playfully. “Seriously, I simply want to know what happened.”
“Well, I can save you some time. Because I know who the killer was and can tell you exactly what happened.” She paused while he raised an eyebrow. “They showed the guy in handcuffs and everything on TV last night.” She grinned at her little joke.
“If you watch TV shows, Holly. You know the suspect isn’t the killer unless a jury says he’s the killer.”
“You’re right, the person they first suspect at the start of the show never turns out to be the real killer.” She was having fun with all of it. “What about the dead guy. Sounds like you’re trying to help the killer. That’s not cool.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did so. Let’s sit down.” She signaled her intention to the woman behind the bar, took his arm and drew him down next to her on the window bench. Her skirt was so short he turned his eyes away. “Is there a reward? I’m saving up for college. Oh my god, I just realized, I’m talking to a real live lawyer, how cool is that? So like, you’re going to stick up for the guy they arrested... get him off... beat the rap… all that?”
“Defense attorneys don’t get criminals off. They fight against abuse of rights, wrongful prosecutions or misapplication of forensic science. It’s not a simple subject.”
“You know, you’re really uptight. I need to go to college and learn some cool words like that. You’re an important man, aren’t you? You know, if you’re part of the ruling class, the one percent, I’m not supposed to like you.”
He gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “Are you always this chatty?”
“Hey, I’m on my break, don’t want to sit and read the menu. You got me all excited now being part of a real life murder investigation. You never know, maybe I’m trying to totally abuse the killer’s rights. I suppose you’d better interrogate me and find out.”
“I’m really just interested in knowing whether or not he was in here. How old are you, sixteen?”
“Almost twenty. What if I were older?”
“You need to be careful about talking flippantly with some strange man.”
“Marty, you’re about the most unstrangest man I’ve ever seen. And you look awesome, like one of those cool guys in ads for expensive suits. Except you walk like you got a stick up your ass. You might want to think about kicking back and chilling. And besides, I can take care of myself.”
“Okay, let’s stop all the kidding around and get serious. I appreciate the help you’ve given me. You could do me a big favor, Holly. Here’s a photo of the man. Could you ask some of the regulars and your coworkers when you see them, if they remember this guy being here last Tuesday.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll ask around for you. Because I’ve already decided, I really want your side to win.”
“That’s just perfect, Holly. Nice to meet you.” He gave her his business card. “Just in case something comes up.”
“I’ll make up a bunch of stuff, so you’ll have to come back.”
“Come on. I told you this investigation is serious and important to me.”
“Okay, Marty... Mr. Lawyer Man. But even if I can’t help, I hope I see you again. So, how would you rate me on a scale of nine to ten?”
“You are off the scale.”
“Awesome.”
Chapter Seven
Nigel Edwards arrived at the law office the following morning at his usual time, which was one hour before the normal opening time of nine. He parked along the north side of the building, leaving the first two parking spaces empty for Sandy and Martin. The attractive, one-story office building, designed with a Spanish flavor and built and occupied by Martin’s father, sat on a downtown lot back among mature mossy oak trees, a mere three short blocks from the county courthouse, the Park Beach city hall and the police station. The small building housed only the firm of Bronner and Reid.
Neither Sandy nor Martin were aware of Nigel’s self-imposed early schedule. He didn’t do it to score points, and he preferred they not know or else they might fuss about it. Obviously, they were aware he ar
rived at least a few minutes early because they’d find the front steps swept, the lights on in their offices, their computers running. His heritage was from a nation of shopkeepers, as the United Kingdom was sometimes called, and he knew how to get a place open for business. Sandy or Martin would occasionally show up early for some abnormal reason and remark about his being there before them; he’d shrug it off as if it were abnormal for him that morning as well.
He had been somewhat startled when they entrusted him with the office keys even before the end of his first week—the keys to the Bronner and Reid Kingdom. He appreciated the vote of trust, yet his new power over the front door lock meant nothing special to him, just an office—although an important one to the two law partners and their clients. His work with the computer in the law office could be important at rare times, but never particularly challenging. He knew himself well enough to know it would soon be boringly repetitive. He had a lot to learn about the law, of course, yet he was capable of so much more than they had him doing. On the technical side, not a fraction of his technical abilities was being used. He should be writing esoteric algorithms for the National Security Agency.
He wanted to make more money. Not out of need, but to assuage his pride. Simply put, he was worth more. Upon being graduated from Indiana State University, a campus recruiter for an IT start-up in Silicon Valley offered him a dream job. To his later regret, he turned it down thinking a good job could wait; he should take the summer off and “find himself.” In truth, what he wanted to find was what magical Florida was all about. He had always been attracted to places he hadn’t been and girls he hadn’t met, including those fabulous women he had heard about who rollerblade topless along South Beach.
Indiana State had some of the prettiest coeds in the country—the prettiest, not the easiest—in desperation, he’d turn on a British accent and that occasionally did the trick. However, his fake accent didn’t get him a second glance down at the more sophisticated South Beach. Even so, his quest did bring him to Florida—without enough money to leave.
Into The Heat (Sandy Reid Mystery Series Book 6) Page 5